


Come Home

by billtheradish



Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: F/M, Other, Polyamory Negotiations, Slightly Inept Polyamory Negotiations, Spider Plant Gropage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/pseuds/billtheradish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She blew her bangs back, looking sheepish. "Um. Will...said it's okay? I guess I should have said that first."</p><p>"Yeah," he agreed, "that might have been good. Also? Warning me you were about to attack me with your lips would have been nice."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rapacityinblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapacityinblue/gifts).



> The request here was for Layla and Warren to get together without alienating Will. Which I adored. But my usual solution in these situations is that three is not too many. So. I really, really hope you don't mind that, rapacityinblue. The story does at least focus primarily on Layla and Warren.

Warren didn't know why, but he'd always assumed they'd have a nice garden. It made sense that Layla preferred something more natural and even a bit overgrown, but.

Was that a banana tree?

The house itself was...kind of atrocious, in a pastel cottage sort of way. If he was a nice person who used nice words, he supposed he'd call it precious or something like that. A word that would be polite, while still managing to imply the atrocity in an understated way.

This house didn't deserve understated. It deserved a paint job and a wrecking ball. 

And he was stalling. Warren sighed and lifted his duffle bag again, reaching past the fence to brush a hand against an Echinacea bloom before opening the gate.

He'd made the mistake, just once, of entering a garden of Layla's without warning. He still wasn't sure which was worse, the nettles in places he never wanted to think about again or the _look_ on her face when she saw the scorch marks he'd left.

But now, the plants that were overflowing their beds and trailing over the walkway slid back and away from his feet, closing again behind him. The door opened as he approached, but there was no sign of anyone there.

"Hi Warren!" Layla called from...somewhere. All he could see was a little living room that looked like mostly couch, potted plants, and (thank fuck) a few bunched up socks and piles of discarded mail. He wasn't sure he could have handled staying much longer if there hadn't been some sort of mess.

But still. No Layla and no Will.

Warren dumped his duffle in the entry way and gave the honeysuckle that was drawing back into its pot behind the door a hesitant nod, just in case, before shutting the door. Alarmingly, it quivered back. "So...are you seeing through the plants now, or what?"

"It's called security cameras," she said, in a tone better suited to him, dry and mocking. But affectionate. Sort of. "Or they, I guess. But I can't see you where you are now and really, Warren, I'm _covered in flour_. Come in already."

The living room was messy enough to be comfortable, but it was still bright and cheerful and welcoming. A lot like the garden, really. Overgrown and unruly, but alarmingly vibrant and healthy considering it kept threatening to snow. It was...cozy. And warm.

He stood out like a sore thumb. What else was new.

The kitchen was a legitimate disaster area.

"You know," he said, slouching in the doorway, "when _most_ people say they're covered in flour, it's an exaggeration."

Layla exhaled sharply up into her bangs and glared at him. She had a liberal dusting of white all over, as did most of the kitchen. There was a bowl on the counter in front of her and she had a wooden spoon in a death grip. The mixture in the bowl looked...moister than the kitchen.

"Want some help?"

She sighed, and smiled at him from under the flour. "Sure."

\-----

When Will and Layla got engaged, the news spread with a speed unseen outside the super-gossip community. Someone asked Layla if they were getting married so young because she was pregnant. And the rumor mill kept picking at the fact that they were living together and with Warren, and Zach, and Magenta, and Ethan, as though it meant something other than a bunch of friends saving money while going through university.

Judging by Layla’s mother’s faithful (and hilarious) reports, the only rumor more popular than the all-orgy-all-the-time theory was the idea that Warren was sleeping with Will _and_ Layla, behind both of their backs.

It was only a couple of months before Layla woke him up in the middle of the night. They flew across the state to elope without warning, with just Warren and Will’s parents for witnesses.

The rumors of scandal only got worse from there. Hell hath no lingering grudge like gossip mongers thwarted, apparently.

It was for the best, in Warren's opinion. Layla had asked him to be her best man long before Will thought it might be necessary. That might have been awkward.

\-----

It was really, really weird to be putting together a recipe around an alarmingly helpful spider plant. Warren lifted the bowl he was using to blend the oil, syrup and vanilla (fucking weird vegan recipes) together while another cloth swept past, driven by a ridiculous little ploof of green. "No. Really. _This counter is clean_. Cut it out."

"Sorry," Layla laughed from where she was using a potted rosemary to beat the remaining flour out of her hair. "A couple of them are, uh, kind of developing lives of their own?" She grimaced, placing the rosemary back on the sill with a little pat that left it greener and fuller than before. "I think it just likes you."

"It likes me." He shot an incredulous look at her.

She just laughed again, reaching up to unhook the spider plant's pot so she could move it to the other side of the kitchen. "Well, yeah, I assume so. I haven't been telling it to clean for ahmph-PLEH!"

Layla pushed the cloth away from her mouth, making a face. "Oh, gross."

"Guess it likes you too?"

That got him another glare. Really, she should just be happy he wasn't laughing outright at her.

\-----

The Stronghold Three were still big news, both in and out of the hero world. In it, of course, there were usually hints and suggestions of why it wasn't the Stronghold _Four_ , if Will and Layla were married.

But Layla wasn't a Stronghold. Never had been, never would be.

"I refuse to bow to the patriarchy and subsume my identifiers in my husband," she'd told him over the phone one night, when she was keeping him company on a prolonged and ultimately useless stakeout. "I don't see why that's so hard for people to get."

"Yeah," he agreed with a smirk. "And just think. None of _them_ ever saw you scribbling 'Layla Stronghold' in your notebook margins."

"Jerk," she'd responded fondly. "Besides, do you have _any idea_ how much paperwork and hassle goes into a name change? I _don't_ think so."

"Mhm."

"No, really. It's just a stupid, outdated tradition."

"Yeeeeup. Just what you said."

There was a long pause, but he was used to this by now. Eventually, she sighed heavily over the line. "I don't want his parents getting any ideas. I mean, I totally respect them. Don't get me wrong. But I'm--I'm really just...not a Stronghold, you know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"Yeah. It's just. That's not the kind of hero I want to be."

\-----

"I kind of hate you right now." Warren lifted an eyebrow and stared at Layla, waiting for her to explain. She was sitting on the counter now, her feet kicking idly and frowning at the cookie she'd stolen off the cooling rack. The half of it that was left. "I mean. I didn't even know you cooked."

He rolled his eyes. "If I didn't, I'd have starved."

"Okay, fine. But still." She grinned at him around another bite. "These are really good."

"And no redecoration needed," he quipped, earning a light swat from the spider plant.

Then the frond came back and curled around his neck, pushing down under the neck of his shirt.

"That's not me!" Layla yelped, even as he flared up instinctively in response to the...well, grope. But it had registered as an attack. 

The spider plant was only a little singed and, according to Layla, petulant.

Great. He'd hurt a plant's feelings.

\-----

His phone calls with Will went a bit differently.

"Dude, we miss you. When are you coming home?"

"You realize I've never seen your house, right? Don't you think that's a little weird?"

"Uh. No?" He snorted, and there was a brief burst off static. "Hey, sorry, Mom's here so I gotta go. But seriously. Come home soon."

He didn't really know what to do with them.

\-----

"So. What do you think?" Layla did a quick little turn in the hallway, gesturing around herself with another stolen cookie.

He wrinkled his forehead and went to shove his hands in his pockets before he remembered taking his jacket off to avoid sacrificing it to the baking gods. He wound up hooking his thumbs in his jeans instead. "Uh. You really want me to answer that?" She gave him a flat glare and he shrugged. "It's...cozy?"

She grimaced. Tact was still not his strong suit, apparently.

"Cozy isn't a bad thing," he offered. Because it really wasn't. It was _good_. He just didn't belong there.

\-----

"It isn't just Layla, you know. I miss you too."

"I know."

"So. Uh, right." Will coughed, and Warren grinned to himself at how uncomfortable he sounded. "I did have a reason for calling! We got a lead on your...uh."

"It's okay. Tell me what you've got."

\-----

"Do you really hate it?"

Layla's hands were tugging on each other and she was chewing on her lower lip. Her fingers kept going back to her wedding ring, but he doubted she noticed it.

"It's fine. Really." He tried to smile for her, but her comical grimace suggested he missed somewhere. "Kind of surprised you're not asking more questions, though."

She shrugged and flopped down on the couch, patting the seat next to her. He sat at the other end, but she just rolled her eyes and scooted across. She did leave him a little room to himself, though. "Well, it's not like we haven't kept in touch, or didn't know what you were doing. We were kind of hoping you'd drop by soon."

Hoping. Warren snorted.

"Ugh, fine," she rolled her eyes. "We were hoping you'd drop by _on your own_."

"Better."

Layla rested a hand on his back, and he almost jumped. "Hey. It's okay, you know. Any chance you're going to be staying a while? Will's at that summit thing."

"The World Peace Summit?" he asked, amused. "That thing?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "That. But it means he won't be home for a few days."

"...I _can_ stay. I'm-- He's safe, now. Back in custody." Two more life sentences. If they could be sure he'd die of old age, it would be getting ridiculous. "I'm not sure I--"

"Oh! I haven't shown you the back yet!" Layla was up in a flash, tugging at his arm to pull him up and through the kitchen. "I can't believe I forgot."

\-----

The first time Layla kissed him, she'd been married to Will for nearly two years.

"Oh, God, no. Don't," Layla caught at the sleeve of his jacket, digging her heels in. "Nooo. Don't run away. Stop, stop, stop, stop..."

Warren unzipped the jacket and left it in Layla's hands, but he did turn around and stand with his arms crossed, waiting.

She blew her bangs back, looking sheepish. "Um. Will...said it's okay? I guess I should have said that first."

"Yeah," he agreed, "that might have been good. Also? Warning me you were about to attack me with your lips would have been nice."

"Hah," she cackled, pointing triumphantly at him. "You're distancing. That means you're feeling threatened. Now, is it because you liked it or because you're upset?"

" _Yes_." Warren took the moment of distraction to reclaim his jacket.

"Okay, yeah, I screwed that up. I'm just--" Layla twisted her hands, sighing heavily. "It's really hard to talk to you sometimes, you know? And you have this bad habit of running away when it's serious but not dangerous."

Right. He could be doing that. Warren shrugged and turned to leave, only to stiffen at the menacing arc of a raspberry bush blocking his way.

Layla looked impish when he turned back. "I won't kiss you again, I promise. No unasked for sexual harassment." Her expression turned serious and her voice dropped, abruptly. "But we _are_ talking about this."

\-----

The 'back' was apparently the truly terrifying back yard. It was a little less overgrown than the front, but...

That was definitely a saguaro. Hanging out next to a ten foot tall rhododendron.

"That's..." He was officially at a loss for words.

Layla was trying to push him toward down the path, though. "No, not this. _Further_ back."

\-----

"Will's okay with adultery?"

Layla winced at that, but whatever. They'd been friends long enough that she shouldn't expect him to pull punches.

"Yeah, no. Will's okay with _you_. And us. We've talked about it a lot, actually."

That was... "What."

"We don't have an open relationship. I wouldn't do this with just anybody. Probably not anyone else at all, really." Layla smiled and reached out to straighten his jacket, and Warren held his breath to keep from moving _at all_. "But...we both really like you. I mean, Will isn't sure he wants to _sleep_ with you, that'd be something you guys would have to figure out, but--"

"Layla." She stopped. Thank God. "I am really confused."

"I think you'd be a good addition to our marriage," she said, as though that was a perfectly normal and acceptable thing. "It's always been the three of us, since Royal Pain. It just..." Layla gestured vaguely, looking lost. "It feels right? It's worth a shot, isn't it? I mean. Unless you...don't like us like that."

\-----

They had a cabin, hidden back in the woods behind their house.

"We bought up the whole area back here," Layla explained. "They'd have kept chipping it away into housing if we hadn't. But we figured, even if you came back, you'd probably need space. So..."

It wasn't pastel, or precious. It was just a small house with brown walls and a black roof surrounded by junipers and a shrub he didn’t recognize. The only concession to color was a dark red door.

And he'd spent way too much time with Layla as a teenager. He shouldn't be _surprised_ that he couldn’t recognize a shrub.

"It's pretty empty inside. We picked up a few things, but…" She shrugged, walking up to the building and unlocking it before tossing the key back to him. "Just a couch and a bed. We wanted to make sure you could sleep here if you wanted, and we just couldn't pass up on the couch."

With a comment like that, he’d have expected black leather from anyone but Layla. Even knowing her and Will as well as he did, he wasn't expecting what he got.

Warm beige walls. Rich hardwoods on the floor. The couch was a golden brown corduroy.

Warren stared at the room. There were just two doors, probably bedroom and bathroom, and the kitchen was just an open corner. But there was a kitchen. There was a _house_ , even if it was a tiny one.

"You made me a house. In your backyard."

"Um." She wrinkled her nose up, and he let himself acknowledge the fact that she was adorable when she did that. "Yeah, kinda." 

Will insisting on referring to this place as Warren's home was starting to make a bit more sense. Warren nodded and ran his fingers over the couch, enjoying the texture.

They were always good about giving him his space. They'd given him five years to think about it from a distance.

"So, I have a question."

"Just one?" Layla quipped back, grinning.

He snorted. "For now. Would it be okay if we _dated_ or something before going straight to whatever this is?"

Layla grinned.


End file.
